


On His Knees

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Sherlock thought about getting on his knees for John. And the one time he finally did - although it was nothing like he ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On His Knees

"Damnit, you pesky little thing!", he growled as the mouse escaped him once again, refusing to partake in his experiment and instead scurrying off over the kitchen floor into the living room. With wide steps, Sherlock quickly caught up with it and, refusing to spend the better part of his afternoon tediously chasing the small animal, took one big and surprisingly graceful leap at it once he discovered it hiding at the foot of the couch. "Got'cha!", he mumbled as he imprisoned the fugitive in his large hands and brought himself back up to his knees, distracted from the painful implications of his fall by a sudden stir right next to him. It was John, who had apparently been napping on the couch, to the complete oblivion of the detective. "Oh. You.", he stated, frozen in his position and just staring into John's rather confused face, sorry that he had disrupted his well deserved rest after a long shift, yet unable and unwilling to articulate an apology. Knowing better than to inquire what was going on, John simply shook his head and commented "Sherlock Holmes, on his knees, in front of me. My, my, who would have ever thought I'd live to see this day", a smirk invading his face. "Wouldn't get used to it", Sherlock mumbled and, getting up with a huff, Sherlock retreated back to the kitchen, not letting on just how much John's comment had struck a nerve. 

If only John knew just how much these words had affected him, had caused shivers to run down his spine and for his insides to tighten. He had said it as a joke, but to Sherlock it had been the verbal expression of his most secret desires. He had always known he loved John, more than he could ever love anyone or anything else. It was a fact that simply wasn't debatable, not even for the man who generally liked to think himself above all things as trivial as emotions. So Sherlock had been rather content with their arrangement - he didn't have to let on just how much he cared, because as long as he had John there with him at the end of the day, nothing else mattered. Lately, however, he had started noticing the ever increasing prevalence of a different sort of feeling, a desire that wasn't satisfied with mere companionship, wishful glances and the touch of his own hands anymore. It was a desire that demanded to be acted upon, sometimes bringing him to the edge of simply giving in, and it scared Sherlock, as it seemed to be moving beyond his control rather quickly. Kneeling before John today had been one of those moments. Looking up into the other man's eyes, he had wanted nothing more than to give himself over to him, to let John know he was his, all his, and that yes - him, Sherlock Holmes, the taller-than-life, ever-superior, self-sufficient genius - was on his knees, for John Watson. Gladly.  
  
But, returning to his experiment, Sherlock was relieved he had managed to control himself, for what good could it possibly have done - with John clearly showing no such interest in him. No, it was better this way, after all, he lived with the man and with that being all he could possibly ask for, already more than he deserved, he did by no means want to endanger it. 

 

 

 

oOOOOOo

 

 

Sherlock hated the telly, hated it with all his might for it represented everything he loathed about humanity. It was superficial, irritating, daft, brainless and not the least bit entertaining. Despite his clearly voiced disapproval, John seemed to find some kind of amusement in watching late night talk shows and the occasional movie, however, so Sherlock would join him every once in a while. Not because he was actually paying attention, but because he thought it nice to simply sit next to the man he adored, reveling in his sheer proximity and taking advantage of the opportunity to secretly study his features and catalogue his movements to add to the vast amount of data he had already stored on John Watson in his mind palace.  
  
Tonight was one of those occasions, it was late and they were watching a mindless movie about some kind of drug dealer (or maybe it was a teacher? A police officer? He had already deleted it) gone murderer. When Sherlock was just about to proclaim his boredom, something on the TV screen caught his attention. It was two men, whose relationship seemed to just have moved to sensual territory, as they were currently exchanging saliva rather enthusiastically on screen. Not turned on in the slightest by either man, Sherlock could feel his heart flutter slightly at the thought of simply watching homoerotic content with John. Berating himself for his immaturity, Sherlock almost gasped out loud when one of the characters went on to break the kiss, pushed his partner to his knees and opened his fly. Although the scene ended right there, it had fueled Sherlock's imagination plenty. Making certain John was still completely focused on the movie, he reclined slightly in his chair and closed his eyes, giving range to the abundance of images that flushed his brain. John, him, kissing. John, standing in front of him, trapping his gaze while bringing a hand to his shoulder. The lustful, longing look in his eyes - kind yet with an undeniable authority - as he gently pushes him down until his knees hit the floor. Undoing John's trousers, eager to please, and swallowing at the hard length he is confronted with. Looking up, locking eyes with John as he starts licking him, then takes him into his mouth, enjoying this novel and exciting sensation. John's hand grabbing at the back of his head, a fistful of his curls, guiding Sherlock's movements. John coming in his mouth, a unique taste that he swallows, gladly, savoring every bit of this encounter. On his knees, for John. Wantonly.

Sherlock had never engaged in any sort of sexual activity with a partner before, it had always seemed pointless and tedious to him. Still, he felt like he knew exactly what John's cock would feel like in his mouth, what he would taste like, and he had never wanted anything more.

"Hey, you asleep?", the voice of his object of desire interrupted his inappropriate thoughts. "Mmm I don't see how you could not be. These people are utter idiots. Of course it was the mo..." - "Sherlock! I would appreciate it if you could for once NOT ruin the ending of a film for me, thank you very much!" At that, Sherlock just shrugged and stated: "Fine, as my presence is clearly not appreciated around here, you won't mind if I retreat to my bedroom now. Sleeping in my bed seems to be much less offensive than sleeping in front of crap telly. Good night, John." With that, he quickly got up and went to his room, before John could possibly notice the ridiculously hard bulge in his pants that demanded immediate attention. 

 

 

 

oOOOOOo

 

 

It had been two years since he had faked his own death, since he had made his best friend, his soul mate, the love of his life believe that he had killed himself right in front of his eyes. It was the hardest thing Sherlock had ever had to do - causing both of them incredible amounts of pain, of desperation and solitude - but it was nothing compared to the alternative. With John being killed, he would have  had nothing left to live for, so he was selfish. Selfish in his knowledge that John would be fine, he'd be sad and probably mourn for a little bit, but he'd be alive and never the wiser about Sherlock's motives. To that extent, the detective had sacrificed his life in London, his life with John, and despite the terrible hurt and heartache these two years had pained him with constantly, he knew it was worth it, and he knew that John would be there for him to return to once the time was right.

So when he did, when he finally had taken out the last link in Moriarty's network, returned to London and revealed himself to John, he himself was so joyful, so wonderfully nervous and delighted at their reunion, that he had completely failed to prepare for the anger that would quite naturally be directed at him from John. Anger, hurt, confusion, disappointment. All these emotions that Sherlock would have been indifferent to, would have dismissed with an eye-roll if it had been anyone else - all these emotions were on obvious display in John's eyes and it hurt him to the very core that he had clearly been the one to cause them. When John punched him hard, Sherlock swallowed his pride and let him. He let him, time and time again that night, for he understood, completely, and if this was the only kind of physical contact John was able to provide him with at that very moment, he would happily take it. When Sherlock could finally witness the anger vanishing from John eyes, leaving only hurt and disappointment in his defeated, tired expression, he wanted nothing more than to cry, and to beg for John's forgiveness. He wanted to beg on his knees, take John's hand, cover it with kisses, look up at the man he had hurt so much and explain. He wanted to tell him why he had done it, how much it had pained him, just how much he loved him. He wanted to promise him that he would spend a lifetime trying to make it up to him, that he would never leave him again, if only he took him back and gave him a chance. It was an urge that was so primal, so impossible to fight, that Sherlock would have done it right then and there, had John not stormed out and jumped into a cab so quickly. Get on his knees, for John. Remorsefully.

 

 

 

 oOOOOOo

 

 

Sherlock was staring into the window display of the small but tasteful jewelry boutique not far from Baker Street that he had always found himself to have a certain affinity for, even though he generally disregarded such sentiments. Of course he had never had an actual reason to enter the store, aside from the watch he had received as a gift from his father a long time ago, he didn't carry jewelry, and it's not like he had ever had a partner to shop for. Until now, that was. And even now it wasn't real, he reminded himself. It was just another case, story of his life. So why had he come to this special store to buy a fake engagement ring? His steps had just kind of lead him here, involuntarily, and now that he was browsing their selection, his thoughts drifted off.

He should be standing here, picking a ring for John. Personally, he could care less for weddings - the public celebration of a daft sentiment, that's all they were - but he knew how much marriage meant to John, and he would do it for him. There, that gold ring in the corner, simple but interesting, and with an air of mystery. Just like John, a perfect match, and it seemed to be just his size, too. He would buy it, in a pretty case, and then he would take John up to the roof of St. Bart's, where he had stood two years ago, looking down at John, right before he jumped. He would finally tell John everything, tell him exactly how he had felt that day, how he had felt every day since John had come into his life, and tell him that he never wanted to be without him again. He would get down on one knee, pull out the ring and tell John that now their roles were reversed. That now he was down below, staring up anxiously at the other man, waiting for him to make a decision that would change both their lives forever. On his knee, for John. Hopeful.

But of course that could never happen now, could it. John was already married, happily, to the woman who had helped him through his grief, who had helped rebuild what Sherlock had torn down. The woman he would have never met if it hadn't been for Sherlock's fake suicide two years ago. It was a consequence of his own decisions, of his own taking John for granted, never wanting to share his feelings with him, of his utter selfishness. So all he could do now was find consolation in the fact that at least John was happy, even if it was with someone else. And with that, he tossed the silly idea of ever entering the boutique for anyone else but John, and proceeded on to buy a fake engagement ring for Janine at a cheap department store.

 

 

 

oOOOOOo

 

 

Flick. Flick. Flick. Sherlock stared helplessly as Magnussen flicked his finger in John's eye repeatedly, making the two men painfully aware that he no less than owned them. He owned Mary, her past, her rivals. Therefore, he owned John, and Sherlock, in turn. Trying hard to think clearly despite his growing desperation at watching John get abused  without him being able to intercept, Sherlock's mind slowly deduced the only way out of this situation. The only way he could keep his promise, stick to his vow of keeping John and Mary safe. Ensure John's happiness. It became painfully obvious to him what exactly he was going to have to do, and while he was aware of the ultimate price he would have to pay, of everything he would have to sacrifice, it was the only solution. It wouldn't be how he had always imagined it, it was far too late for that, but it could still save one of them, and he could show John his utter devotion - at last. So with one last glance at the man who owned his heart, who was worth dying for, he told John to stay back and give his love to Mary.  He then shot Magnussen straight in the head. Without turning around just once more, Sherlock lifted his hands, a single tear making its way down his face and slowly sank to his knees, for John. Finally.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by His Last Vow. For some reason I was completely awestruck by the beautiful and heartbreaking scene of Sherlock falling to his knees and surrendering - the symbolism behind this powerful, strong man acknowledging defeat like that, in the name of love, really stuck with me and made me want to explore the idea of Sherlock on his knees for John in a variety of other situations. 
> 
> I would appreciate your feedback, as this is my first time publishing anything I have written :)
> 
>  
> 
> Of course I should also add that I do not own any of the characters but have simply borrowed them for my own and your pleasure ;)


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